The Gift of Time

This is subtle.Like a warm breeze on a summer day—something we long for to never end, something we ache for to always return. Yet do we ever notice how it lingers in the space between the inhales and exhales of the sea?

We rarely do. Because time itself is the current holding the whole experience together.

But when we find ourselves in the uncomfortable—waiting on a response, waiting on a job offer, waiting to leave a space we never wanted to be in—how does time land on us then?

Patience.

Frustration. Impatience. Restlessness. The inability to see anything beyond one specific outcome.

“If I had the job, I’d feel different.”“If my health was 100%, I’d feel different.”“If my business was thriving, I’d feel different.”

And the list goes on. Humans crave the immediate. The quick fix. The now.

Why is it so hard for us to rest in the uncomfortable? Because we’ve attached our worth to outcomes. We forget to live in the moment, to find joy in the little things, to feel whole and worthy exactly as we are—not where we “should” be.

I deserve to live as I am right now. I don’t have to be anything else.

This year has been exactly that lesson for me. Learning to live without instant gratification. Learning to dance for no reason. To laugh. To feel joy without needing the world’s stamp of approval.

Job offers fell through. Clients disappeared. Health faltered. My family went through massive transitions. And in the midst of all that chaos, I struggled to smile, to explain, to justify why things looked like setback after setback.

But then—I learned to see myself beyond achievements. Beyond what others would label impressive. I learned to say fuck you to judgment. To follow my own path and give zero fucks.

I sang. I danced. I ate what I wanted. I stopped following anyone else’s rulebook.I let go of the fear of being seen, being heard, being me.

And I realized: the lesson wasn’t to outrun the hardship, but to sit with it. Not to worship achievement, but to honor the abundance already alive in me. I learned to accept the downfall, to stop giving a fuck, to discern allies from ghosts.

I stayed alone. I cried. I screamed. I let it out. And it built me—stronger, steadier, from the inside out.

It reminded me of God. That I am received exactly as I am.

That I can wear the same clothes three times a week if they make me feel damn good. That I can wear wild woman clothes. That I can embrace my sexuality, laugh at my cravings, eat Kinder because it reminds me of childhood, eat bread and butter because, mate, I’m human. And it feels so good to be alive.

Time teaches patience. Time grows faith. Time reminds us that God is real and we are not in control. Time strips us back to our authentic selves. Time heals. Time strengthens. Time lays foundations no storm can break.

Time is a gift. Be patient with it.